Wild Child
by Zoop
Summary: Uruk survivor of Helm's Deep encounters an orphaned Rohirrim woman who's grown up in Fangorn Forest. Told in short drabbles. Rated for rather explicit explorations.
1. Chapter 1

His heavy feet pounded the turf, the normally even rhythm ruined by the injured left leg. Eyes fixed on the horizon, he pressed on, the diminishing sounds of his brothers' tortured cries falling away behind him. His mouth was set grimly, hiding sharp, jagged teeth. A single thought filled his mind: _Home_.

Northward he thundered, pace never slackening. The bright sun burned the top of his head, no longer shielded by the helmet he had lost at some point of the battle. His sword had been broken in half, shoddily made that it was, when the horsemen had come out of the rising sun and rained death upon them. Against all odds, the Uruk-hai were defeated, the few survivors left to find their own manner of death, or the way home. Ashûk shuddered as he ran; he would not meet a victor's welcome in Isengard, but it would be better to face the wrath of his master than that of the trees.

A grove had sprung up in the night, standing between the army and escape. When victory was snatched from their clawed hands, they had thought to find refuge beneath the sheltering branches, but it was not a natural wood. Never once while in the valley of the Isen, had he heard tell of the snaga orcs being ripped limb from limb by the trees, yet he saw it with his own eyes. His left arm hung useless, clutched to his breast by his right, the nightmare memory of his narrow escape still vivid in his mind.

Many things had fallen apart that day, not the least of which was Ashûk's courage in the face of an enemy. It had not failed him when they stormed the breach in the wall; he kept a firm grip on it when the _shara-hai_ burst from the keep in their wrath, mounted on their deadly horses, their horns blaring; he held his ground when the White Rider led reinforcements over the rise to break their lines and turn an orderly retreat into a rout. But when the trees came alive and tore them to pieces, trees that should not have even been there, much less be capable of grasping orc limbs and ripping them from their sockets, he fled.

He tried not to recall that his way to Isengard was blocked by a bloody great forest.

A small stream trickled across his path, and he slowed, dropping to his knees on its muddy bank and plunging his face in the cold water, drinking greedily. He did not know how far he had run, or for how long. The sun was still high in the sky, roasting the back of his neck and baking his body in the battered metal shell he wore. Drawing in great gulps of air, he tried to still his swiftly beating heart. He could hear no sounds of pursuit, detect no scent of men on the wind. Closing his eyes, Ashûk took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Now he could think.

On his own, the Uruk knew he could get back to Isengard faster than the army had marched away from there. But he was alone, with only a dirk for fighting if it came to that. The blade was made by the same smith who crafted his worthless sword, so his confidence in its effectiveness was not high. What he chiefly needed at this moment was cover; he stood out like a beacon on the open plains of this cursed land.

Rising with difficulty, for even such a brief respite had stiffened his leg, he continued on. A dark line between earth and sky ahead told him the forest was not far. While he was warier of the wood now, he needed to get out of this place, before the horsemen caught up to him. He did not fear death, but neither did he believe he should walk boldly up to it and spit in its eye. He was infantry, not berserker.

* * *

><p>shara-hai - Men<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

The cool shade of the forest eaves halted the sun's torment of his skin, and he rested again before going further in. Lifting his nose to the wind, he sniffed for several minutes, turning his head in different directions. No strange smells came to him; it was the forest as he had always known it, but he no longer trusted the seemingly benign trunks. Swallowing hard, he walked slowly under the trees, eyes darting nervously. He held the flimsy dirk in a tight grip, knowing it was of no use against wood, but comforted by the feel of a weapon in his hand regardless.

There was a hush in the forest that he did not like at all. He fancied he could see shadows moving about on the edges of his vision, making him whirl around to see nothing there. As dusk settled around the woods, his sight grew worse, for night was no friend to the Uruk-hai as it was to other orcs. He found a hollow beneath a fallen tree, perhaps made by some burrowing animal in a past winter, and huddled inside. It took hours for him to allow sleep to lay claim to his weary, wounded body and frightened mind.

Yes, he was frightened, he admitted. He had marched with the greatest army of Uruk-hai ever known. Many were his shield-brothers. While he would not go so far as to call any of them 'friend,' they had shared much in their brief lives in the valley. Now he was the only one left, as far as he could tell. How could he walk into Orthanc without them? What would _Sharkû_ say to him? Or _do_ to him, the coward who had run from the battle like some worthless _snaga_?

Shame kept him in the forest for another day, debating what to do. Hunger finally drove him from his hiding place. But no life stirred in the forest that had once been home to many animals, large and small. Whatever stilled the air had likewise silenced all other life for miles around, and it seemed to get worse the closer he drew toward the tower.

Dread filled Ashûk's heart, a wholly unfamiliar feeling. Shaking himself, he furrowed his swarthy brow and snarled defiantly. None had been harmed by trees here, he reminded himself. Straightening his back and standing tall, he walked purposefully toward the valley.

As he emerged through a thicket of undergrowth, something hurtled out of the trees and struck him so hard he was lifted off his feet and flung back into the bushes, the wind knocked from his lungs.

For a wild moment, he thought a tree had attacked him. But the thing that had collided with him was small and lithe. Focusing through the effort to force air back into his body, Ashûk saw a stream of long yellow hair framing a pale, dirty face, eyes like the sky after a storm. Its pale limbs were bare; animal hide covered the torso and loins. Crouching on the ground like a goblin, it hesitated only a moment before springing toward the nearest tree and quite literally running up the trunk to the lowest branch, which was at least ten feet from the ground. Within seconds, it had disappeared without a trace.

As the shock of seeing such a wild creature subsided, it dawned on him that it was a human female.


	3. Chapter 3

Finding a well-concealed perch, she looked down through the leaves at the orc-like creature gingerly picking himself up from the ground. Her head cocked to the side as she examined him. He was different from the orcs she had seen murdering her friends to feed the fires of Orthanc, but not much. Taller, perhaps, and less deformed, but still dark of skin and sharp of tooth. She moved silently along a stout branch and hopped to an offered branch of another tree. Assuming for the moment that he was at least similar to the orcs, she kept herself downwind of him.


	4. Chapter 4

Ashûk growled under his breath as he continued on his way to the valley. He decided he would keep this little encounter to himself; his shame on the battlefield easily outshone being taken unawares by a human female, but would not help him any in the telling. He could not drive the female out of his mind, though. Going over the brief moment when they stared at each other, he recalled more details. She was dark with dirt from living rough in the forest, though still uncountable shades lighter than him. Her hair was a tangled mass tied in a knot behind her head, but his own could not be called tidy by comparison. Though small to his eyes, she did not seem to be a child, but rather a grown female.

But most startling of all was the way she looked at him, without fear, without revulsion. Rather, her eyes were curious. She had darted away like a wild animal would if startled, not as he would have expected of a _sharlob_. At the very least, he should have inspired terror, tearing screams from her throat. Though he never set foot out of the valley before the great army marched into Rohan, his brothers had told tales of raiding villages, gutting and beheading _shara_, defiling _sharlob_. The females reportedly screamed bloody murder whether such treatment was in the offing or not. It was strangely intriguing that this female had not so much as whimpered at the sight of him.

* * *

><p>sharlob - human woman<br>shara - human man


	5. Chapter 5

She watched as he made his steady way through the forest, keeping pace with him by silently hopping or swinging from tree to tree high up in the canopy. It was a desire to snack on berries that had drawn her down from the trees in the first place, and now her stomach rumbled briefly. She was rarely so singularly focused as she had been on that bush, and it had cost her. The orc appeared out of nowhere in her downward swing, and she was helpless to stop her momentum, crashing into him with jarring force. Her body ached slightly from the impact, but it was no matter. More interesting to her was the strangeness of him; she had seen the army march a few days ago, seemingly emptying the valley of the tower. What was this one doing back? And what was wrong with him? He favored the leg and arm on one side of his body as if they pained him. She wasn't accustomed to orcs or their ways, for Fangorn had always strongly advised her against ever going near them, but Fangorn was busy at the moment. No doubt he would _hoom_ and call her hasty, but she couldn't suppress her curiosity. She kept the orc in her sight and followed where he led.


	6. Chapter 6

He couldn't take it in. He stood looking out into the ruined valley, arms limp at his sides, mouth hanging open in shock. His body shook uncontrollably. The trees were striding about in the flood waters, tearing down every structure, throwing or punting any surviving orc they found. Where Ashûk knew the gaping pits to be, there was only water, steam billowing into the sky from the quenched furnace fires below.

Sinking to hands and knees, he retched sour bile from his empty stomach. Struggling weakly to his feet once more, he turned back to the forest. There was no home to return to; no welcome, victor's or coward's, awaiting him. He couldn't even get his head around what this might mean; he only knew how to make war, not survive without the army for support. Once more, he felt the cold grip of fear in his bowels, but there was nothing left to vomit.

His wandering feet took him deeper into the forest than he had ever dared venture. Part of him hoped the nightmare he had recently escaped would catch up to him, that the trees would reach for him as they had his brothers, and spare him the bleak future he saw for himself. Another part reminded him that he was not defeated yet.

As night fell, he found his way to an engorged river, clearly the main artery of the Isen. Kneeling on the bank, he ducked his head down to quench his thirst. The soil beneath him suddenly gave way, weakened by the unaccustomed fury of the river, and he plunged into the swirling current.

Even on a good day, Ashûk would have been in trouble. He could not swim; had never had more than his face and hands in water, and only when necessary for drinking. Now it was filling his mouth and nose, the weight of his armor dragging him down deeper, the rushing current pulling him further from the bank. Panicking, he thrashed wildly.

Something clutched his hair, pulling him up. An arm hooked under his armpit, wrapping around his chest. When his head broke the surface, he couldn't get air into his lungs fast enough, for he choked violently. The grip slipped on his wet breastplate, and he once more plunged into the water. But the hand that held his hair did not release; another grabbed his good hand, and he gripped it tightly, desperately. With only slight surprise, he saw that his rescuer was the wild female, hanging upside down from a fallen tree, legs hooked around the trunk, a grimly determined expression on her face. Even as he wondered how long she could hold on against the strong current, she deliberately let go of the tree.


	7. Chapter 7

Landing in the water next to him, she got a much better grip on his body, holding his back against her and keeping his head up. They rode the current back toward the valley. Her legs kicked behind him, keeping them afloat. He thought she might take them all the way to the valley, but he realized they were edging toward the banks. Soon enough, they were scrambling out of the water, up the embankment, and under the comparative safety of the trees.

Ashûk lay face down for several minutes, coughing and choking, gasping for breath. The leafy detritus on the forest floor pressed against his cheek. Relief coursed through him; grim as his situation was, he did not want to die just yet, and certainly not by drowning helplessly.

Rolling onto his back, he looked for the female. She was nearby, gathering fallen limbs into a pile. Squatting next to the pile, her back to him, she worked to start a flame through friction, for she clearly had no other means of lighting a fire. He saw that she had built a proper firepit, rocks and all to keep the flames from catching on the grass or the underbrush.

Once she produced a spark, she coaxed it to life with careful tending. Soon, a merry fire burned brightly. Standing, the female stripped off her soaking wet animals skins.

Ashûk stared with mouth agape. He watched her hanging her garments to dry on a nearby bush. Turning to him, she said, "Stay." Then she darted away into the darkness, silent as a thought.


	8. Chapter 8

He sat there stunned for several minutes before the night air told him that the padding under his armor was soaking wet. Frowning, he unbuckled the straps and discarded each piece until he was as naked as she, and huddled next to the fire's warmth, deep in thought. He nearly jumped straight into the fire when a blanket dropped about his shoulders.

He hadn't heard her return, hadn't smelled her. How could she move so silently this late in the year, with dried leaves on the forest floor? She squatted down beside him, a similar homespun blanket thrown over her own back.

"Who are you?" he asked gruffly.

She tilted her head as she examined his face, brow furrowing. She looked like a wolf that has heard an unfamiliar sound. He half expected her round little ears to prick forward.

"I am me," she said simply. "Who are you, orc-not-orc?"

"What did you call me?"

"Orc. Not. Orc," she said slowly. "Not the same as tree-slayers."

Now he chuckled. "No, not the same," he agreed. "I am Uruk-hai."

She grunted and nodded, her gray eyes fixed on his face. He felt strangely self-conscious under such unabashed scrutiny.

"Hurt?" she said suddenly. Without waiting for a response, she stepped out of the warm blanket and knelt at his side. Her calloused hands probed his injured arm, feeling the damage done. She seemed to understand, and nodded to herself. "Huorn's wrath upon you," she stated matter of factly. "They do not think clearly. Look at you, see orc, not Uruk."

At the moment, all Ashûk could see was bare flesh, washed clean from the river, displayed without shame or concern. Had he not just taken an unwanted swim in a torrent of snowmelt, he might have been capable of sampling this feast so near to hand, but the chill still sat in his bones, and his privates were loathe to part with what little warmth his body provided.

With the same deliberate movements, she pulled the blanket aside and examined his injured leg. He had taken many blows during the battle once the horsemen came out of their hole, but the axe that cut his leg nearly unmade him. He flinched from her touch, and found himself trying to cover his shrunken member with a corner of the blanket.


	9. Chapter 9

She swiftly cleaned the wound on his leg and bound it with rags from a little animal skin bag she had brought with the blankets. Head cocked to the side, she reached up and touched his brutish face, running her fingers over the contours of his brow, his cheeks, his jaw. She held his face in her hands and stared into his yellow eyes for several moments. Turning his head, she ran her fingers up and down the pointed ear, even feeling the damp coarse hair hanging limply down his back. Her curiosity unnerved him. Once she had her hands on him, she seemed unwilling to remove them. Her touch, though pleasant to a degree, was exploratory in a clinical way, not seductive. He'd been stared at, challenged, and sometimes pushed around by some of the most threatening creatures under his Master's control, and none of them made him feel as uncomfortable as the bold, unabashed examination by this wild female.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked. She had moved to his chest and was tracing her fingers over the whorls and lines of the tattoos he had been given to mark the timing and location of his birth.

Without looking up, she said, "Never touched an orc-not-orc." She seemed completely unconcerned about what she was doing to him. As the heat of the fire warmed his body, he could feel his member stirring, and he was rather relieved that the blanket still hid _that_ from her insatiable curiosity.

Taking up his hand, she turned it over and over in her own, looking closely at the rough dark skin, touching the black claws. "Like a bear," she commented. Unsettling as it was, he was nearly as fascinated by her interest in him as she was in the exploration. Dropping his hand, she shifted to take up his foot, running her fingers over the top, the instep, and along the bottom. He involuntarily jerked out of her grasp, toes curling.

Grunting with amusement, she grabbed for his foot again and continued. He had no idea why her touch had made him do that; but then, no one had ever messed around with his feet before. Abandoning his clawed foot, she went back to his face, and her searching fingers urged his mouth open. He obliged her, feeling quite like a slave being appraised as she poked around his teeth.

"Angry wolf," she said, her ear pressed to his chest. He had never noticed how differently he sounded when he breathed as compared to humans, but now in the silence with this female, he could hear his breath growling in his chest. _Yes_, he mused, _I do sound like an angry wolf_. And the wolf was hungry, he realized, as his stomach rumbled even louder than his lungs.

She laughed. "We must eat," she said. Standing up, she virtually melted into the darkness and disappeared once more.


	10. Chapter 10

With her gone, Ashûk's mind cleared and he remembered the shocks he had sustained that day. It seemed this female had lived a long time in the forest skirting Isengard, apparently without any of the residents aware of her existence. She was confident and capable, strong and agile. How long had she survived here on her own? Closing his eyes, he realized he needed her. He was lost and utterly alone, the acknowledgement like a crushing weight upon him. He supposed he could travel eastward, look for his inferior cousins in Mordor, but at the moment, he had no wish to be among them. He craved the company of other Uruk-hai, but they were gone.

His sullen mood was interrupted by her return, appearing at his side as if by a wizard's magic. She held up a squirrel and a rabbit in her hands for him to see.

"Choose," she said. Shrugging, he pointed at the rabbit. She handed it to him, then sat down with the squirrel. Using her teeth, she tore the skin and ripped it from the animal's flesh. Blood covered her hands in moments, the scent of it filling his quivering nostrils. He didn't waste any more time, and set to in a similar fashion with the rabbit.

They ate their meals raw in silence. Eventually it occurred to him that the Dunlendings under Saruman's sway cooked their meat. He remembered their distaste, those wild men, whenever they observed the Uruk-hai dining on raw meat. Frowning, he watched her consume flesh and organs, licking her fingers like any orc would, clearly enjoying herself. Blood dripped from the carcass into her lap and down her breasts. It ran down her chin. He reached toward her and caught a drip before it fell, and put his finger in his mouth, sucking the blood off, his eyes never leaving her face.

She turned to him, curious. Ashûk took her hand and licked the blood from the back. She watched him mildly, unafraid. Turning it, he licked the palm. He could feel her pulse against his tongue when he reached her wrist. He followed the blood trail up her arm to her elbow, then moved to her breast. Here, her skin was softest, warm and inviting. He closed his mouth over the nipple, tongue laving the blood he found there, teeth grazing the tender flesh.

With a suddenness that surprised him, she struck the side of his head with her fist, rolled away from him, and caught him another stunning blow with her foot. When he shook sense back into his head, there was no sign of her.


	11. Chapter 11

She hadn't gone far, just up the nearest tree, where she perched and watched him. The orc-not-orc looked wildly around for her, never thinking to look up. His scent had changed, turning musky like animals in the rutting season. Perhaps he sought to mate with her, she mused. Well, it was not _her_ season. Yet his tongue on her skin had felt...good. At his touch, heat welled inside her, with a tingling sensation between her legs that was entirely new. She had not been around a male before, didn't understand what his touch had done to her.

The feelings, though... Sensations... She wondered what it would feel like, mating with this male. She still felt the strange fluttering in her stomach, the rippling between her legs that seemed to demand her attention. Curious, she spread her legs and touched herself. A shiver went through her body, surprising her. Exploring with her fingers, she found unexpected pleasure in the act. Would mating feel good as well? It did not seem to interest the wild creatures when the females were not in season. But as Fangorn had patiently explained to her once, _she_ was not the same as they.

For now, though, the orc-not-orc needed to be taught that biting was not welcome. She abandoned her play and settled herself in the crook of a forked branch to wait.


	12. Chapter 12

Ashûk cursed under his breath. He did not know how to hunt, how to forage in the wild, how to find shelter... and he'd just scared off the only person for miles who could teach him these things. Rubbing his face, he stared into the flames still dancing cheerfully skyward.

_She is a wild thing_, he told himself. _Treat her as one. Be gentle. Be slow. Tame her._

Assuming he ever saw her again.

Standing, he went warily to the riverbank and washed the rabbit blood from his hands and face. Once cleansed of that scent, another came to his nostrils.

Squirrel.

A slight smile curved his mouth. Returning to the fire, he sat and concentrated on the smell. He may not know much about survival, but tracking by scent came as naturally to the Uruk-hai as breathing. She hadn't gone far; perhaps only yards away.

_Patience. She will come down if I am no threat._

Could he _not_ be a threat, though? Frowning, Ashûk wondered if his Master even provided for the potential in his making. Did being Uruk-hai mean nothing more than what he had always known – combat, war, killing? Did he have anything to offer the female in exchange for her aid? Was he even capable of giving, instead of always taking? Such questions had never crossed his mind before, and now they left him pondering, uncertain.


	13. Chapter 13

Lost in thought, Ashûk was startled by the woman's return.

"Orc-not-orc," she said behind him. He stiffened, and turned slowly to face her. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it as her eyes fell.

For the first time in his life, he was embarrassed to be unclothed. She still didn't look at him with revulsion, as he would expect of a whiteskin female, yet she didn't seem aroused by his nakedness, either. Rather, she seemed surprised by how he was made, as though she had never seen the difference between male and female before. He wasn't sure which scrutiny was worse.

He silently thanked the Powers that he'd lost his erection a few minutes earlier. Unfortunately, his gratitude fell on deaf ears as he realized his traitorous member was hardening before her fascinated eyes.

"What is that?" she asked, pointing.

Blinking, Ashûk was momentarily put off. What should he say? He didn't know what it was _supposed_ to be called, only the crude references bandied about by he and his fellows. It somehow seemed distasteful to hear such words come from her mouth, but he really had no choice.

"It is...it is my cock."

"What is it for?"

_Oh shit..._


	14. Chapter 14

"It is... uh... I use it to piss," he ventured awkwardly.

She seemed to be examining him even more closely, eyes narrowed, as if she were comparing his anatomy against what she knew of other creatures. "That is all?"

"No," he answered tightly. "Other things..."

"Is it...for mating?" she asked uncertainly.

"Yes," he said miserably. "That as well."

"How do you use it to mate? Show me."

Ashûk's face went slack, his eyes opened wide. "Uh..."

There was definitely a part of him that was thrilled with the prospect of mating with this female. He'd had a rough few days, quite a few shocks. But he wasn't dead.

On the other hand, he knew next to nothing about females, only one way to use them, and _that_ from second-hand accounts, told in boasts by his brothers. Who knew what was true, what was exaggeration? One thing he _did_ know: the females didn't like it one damn bit. If a simple nip sent her into the trees...

Shaking his head, he said, "I cannot."

She frowned. He could swear she _pouted_. "Why?"

"You will not like it," he replied.

She stared at his privates. Then she looked at his face again, her gaze intensely curious. "Tell me, then."

Well, that was relatively safe. Shrugging, he said, "I put my cock inside you to mate."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Where?"

Ashûk rather vaguely pointed. If he'd had a man's complexion, she would have seen him blush, and that alone was humiliating.

Seeing where he pointed, her eyes widened...but not with alarm or fear. It was delight. She grinned as if she knew something about her body that he didn't. Then she faltered, a frown returning. "Why would I not like it?"

He was still trying to overcome the shock over her expression. "It... it hurts."

She considered this new information, brow furrowing in confusion. "It does not hurt the wild creatures," she pointed out. She tilted her head to the side and regarded him thoughtfully. "Perhaps you do it wrong."


	15. Chapter 15

How Ashûk could do it any way _but_ wrong, he wasn't sure. Shrugging, he replied, "I have never done it, so you are probably right." Unable to stand it any longer, he covered his stiffening member with both hands. There. Much better. That made it easier to look her in the face.

Now she was even more curious.

"Why did you do that?"

_Dammit._"I do not like... being stared at," he grumbled.

"You stare at me," she replied reasonably. "I do not hide. Why do you?"

"We are... different?" he suggested lamely.

"Yes, you are male," she said, stepping forward. She pulled his hands away and looked again. "You _are_ different." To his horror, she reached down and took hold of him, fascination on her face. "It is so hard. Does it hurt you?"

"If you are not careful, yes," he squeaked, then cleared his throat and clenched his fists with the effort to keep his hands out of the way lest he startle her into doing something painful to him in her ignorance.

"The skin is soft, not like your other skin," she commented. For comparison, she brushed her fingers down his hip. Then her hand was on him again. He could barely breathe.

"What is this, beneath your cock?" she asked, and he whimpered.


	16. Chapter 16

"Stop it!" Ashûk barked, stepping away from the woman. Grabbing a blanket, he clumsily wrapped it around his hips. Eying her, he picked up the other blanket and tossed it to her. She instinctively caught it.

She looked utterly bewildered by his sudden outburst. "Do you not like to be touched?"

He gasped and sputtered in disbelief. "I do! But... but... you..." Exasperated and unable to find the words, he fell silent and just stared at her angrily.

The woman's head tilted to the side and she frowned. "You like to be touched, but you are made angry by it." She shook her head. "This does not make sense."

Swallowing hard, he took a deep breath to calm himself. "I am not used to it. _I_ do the... touching."

"Oh," she said, eyebrows rising. "You want to touch me?"

"I...do not wish to frighten you," he said carefully.

"I am not frightened," she said. Her expression told him she didn't understand why he would say such a thing.

"Or harm you."

Again, she regarded him curiously by tilting her head. She looked quite like an animal unsure of strange sounds. "You will not harm me. You are Uruk. Fangorn said it was orcs I must stay away from, not Uruks."

"Who is Fangorn?"

"He is my father," she said, smiling.


	17. Chapter 17

"Your... family lives here? In the forest?" he asked uncertainly.

"Oh, no," she said, laughing. She spread her blanket on the ground, lay upon it, and pulled half over herself as if she were wrapping up to go to sleep. "My family is dead."

Warily, Ashûk followed suit. He kept a few feet of breathing space between them. "But if he is your father..."

"Not my blood father," she explained. Turning on her side to face him, she propped her head on her hand. "He told me I entered the forest as a child. I was lost and alone, so he took me for his own child. He gave me a name, as well."

"What is your name?"

"My name in father's tongue is long and difficult. I have no patience for it. You may call me Fleetfoot," she said, grinning.

"It is a good name for you," he replied.

"Do you have a name, orc-not-orc?"

"I am called Ashûk."

"You are Ashûk, and you do the touching," she said teasingly.

Smiling uncomfortably, he said, "I am alone, Fleetfoot. I do not know how to survive without my Master. Teach me. Please."

Her brow creased with sympathy. "Poor Ashûk. Sleep now. We will seek father in the morning. He will know what to do."


	18. Chapter 18

Ashûk startled awake, sunlight shining harshly in his eyes. He stared up at the trees swaying in a light breeze above his head and listened. All was quiet. Calm. He almost shut his eyes again. Almost relaxed.

Except that sometime during the night, Fleetfoot had crawled over to him and attached herself to his side like a leech.

His breath quickened in panic and arousal. Her head rested on his shoulder, her arm around his waist. She was lying halfway atop him, one leg hooked over his so her thigh was alarmingly close to his privates. He could feel the downy softness of her sex pressed against his hip, the way her breasts molded to the curve of his ribs. His own arm was around her body, holding her close, his clawed hand resting on her waist. He swallowed hard. There was no getting out of _this_ one.

There begged the question, of course: Did he _want_ to? It felt... good. Comfortable. Natural. A relief, after the last few days. He closed his eyes, and just listened to the treesong in the wind, and the gentle breathing of Fleetfoot in slumber at his side.


	19. Chapter 19

It was, perhaps, hours later, or only minutes, when Ashûk woke once more, and he was alone. He'd never been a particularly heavy sleeper, so how the woman had departed without him feeling her do so surprised him. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and looked around.

The fire had been banked and buried in dirt. Fleetfoot stood apart in the full light of day, shaking out her hide garments. His breath caught, for she was as shameless in the day as she had been in the night. Ashûk chewed his lip, worrying it as he thought of all the things his fellows had boasted of. The need to take this female in the manner he'd been told was great, yet he didn't dare. She would abandon him, likely injuring him before doing so. He may as well cut his own throat if she did that, for he had learned nothing of use.

But again those strange thoughts invaded. Under his Master's rule, he _took_. He caused pain. He killed. Why did he not hunger to do so now? Closing his eyes to her temptingly vulnerable form, he listened hard, but not to the forest's voice. It was another Voice he sought, one that had guided his hand, his will, his purpose for years. Perhaps there, he would find answers.

There was nothing. Only silence. He began to tremble.


	20. Chapter 20

"You seem troubled, Ashûk," Fleetfoot said, coming over to him with a concerned look on her face. "Did you see bad things?"

He startled at her voice, shaken as he was by the silence in his mind. "See bad... what do you mean?"

She pulled on her vest-like fur shirt, sparing him the distraction of her naked breasts. "At night, there are sometimes visions that come. I see fire, and monsters. They frighten me, but Fangorn says they are not real. Just memories." She patted his arm reassuringly. "They do not come in the daylight."

He blinked. Dreams. She spoke of dreams, he realized. From the sound of it, her dreams... her _memories_, were of his kind. Ashûk was grateful for the forgetfulness of youth. How would she have reacted if she saw in _him _the faces of those monsters?

Fleetfoot finished dressing, and looked expectantly at him.

"I... have nothing to wear," he said awkwardly. "I would not see... your father... like this."

Laughing, she shook her head. "Father will not mind. He is only clothed in mosses himself."

The orc furrowed his brow in confusion. "Moss?"

"Wait a moment, and you shall have something," she said cheerfully, gathering up the tattered remains of their meals from the night before and ripping the skins free of the leftovers.

Turning away while she worked, his gaze fell upon the heap of metal plating he'd discarded on the bank of the river. He had no desire to don his armor again. _Let it lie and rot_, his thoughts growled. _I can no longer wear such a skin._

After a few minutes, Fleetfoot presented him with a spare kilt of rabbit and squirrel skins, insisting on dressing him herself. Trying not to laugh, and keeping his hands up and out of her way, he watched as she wrapped the skins about his hips and tied them securely with the animals' own empty limbs. It was hardly sufficient to fully conceal him, however.

"Perhaps after lunch, you shall be hidden," she giggled. "I took care to put most in front, since you seem to be so worried about your cock."

Rolling his eyes, he grumped, "I did not used to be."

"Have none paid you any mind before?" she asked, an eyebrow raised. She beckoned him to follow as she spoke.

He fell into step beside her. "None I would _want_ to pay attention to me. Not in such a way, at least."

"Father tells me... orcs... hurt people," she said uncertainly. "That they also hurt each other. Is this so?"

Swallowing uncomfortably, he nodded. "Yes. It is our curse."

"But you are not an orc," she pointed out.

"I am... very like an orc," he replied miserably. "_Too_ like an orc."

"You have not harmed _me_."

He couldn't answer for several moments. "My Master... would want me to," he said, cringing at his own words.

"Your Master... in the Tower?" she asked quietly. Ashûk nodded. "He is bad. My father does not like him."

The Uruk noted a tinge of fierceness in her voice, and glanced at her hardening expression. She met his eyes, and he swallowed. _Here it comes_, he thought.

"Your Master wishes you to do harm," she said. "Do you still heed him?"

"I do not hear his Voice any more," Ashûk replied, glaring ahead. "My brothers fought and died for him, and he... has left us. We have no home, no purpose, nothing." His lip curled with impotent anger he hadn't realized he felt, fury he could do nothing about. "Were I to see him by the roadside on fire, I would not piss on him to quench the flames."


	21. Chapter 21

After their afternoon meal, Ashûk was better covered by the addition of a fox pelt. Fleetfoot was indeed an admirable hunter. The Uruk imagined that she must have honed her skills over a lifetime in the forest, and he envied such freedom.

He had never been free to do anything he wished. Even the sport his brothers enjoyed could not be considered a choice, for they received specific orders to seek females for such things. Would they have done so had their Master not wished it? Ashûk didn't have an answer.

"You are so quiet," Fleetfoot commented as they continued on. "I have watched the orcs in the valley of the Tower for years, and they are not so silent as you. Is such a thing common among the Uruk-hai?"

"No, I would not say we were quiet at all," he chuckled. "I have... troubled thoughts."

"Then you should stop thinking," she advised sagely. "Look about you. See the sunlight on the water, the shadows of the trees. Breathe the clean air. Be content in what is _now_. Do not concern yourself with what is past."

Nodding, Ashûk tried to empty his mind, but it wouldn't obey his commands. There was too much to remember, for all that he had only known a few summers since his foul emergence.

"Do you think me... ugly?" he suddenly asked.

Fleetfoot halted and looked at him critically, her head tilting from side to side as she examined him. "Very little that thinks and breathes is ugly. You have thoughts, and you draw breath. You are alive, as are all those blessed by Eru. I see no ugliness in you."

"You do not look hard enough," he muttered, turning away.


	22. Chapter 22

Fleetfoot led them to a wide clearing with a stream running clear along one end. Leaving Ashûk on the edge, too wary to enter, she strode boldly into the middle and turned.

"Father is not here," she said unconcernedly. "His business must not be finished. But he will return eventually. Come. Now that we are here, I may fit you properly."

Uncertain, Ashûk entered the clearing and allowed her to relieve him of his crude hide kilt. The stream seemed to call him, and considering the bloody garments he'd been wearing, he decided a wash was in order. While the woman used a knife to scrape the skins, the Uruk went to the bank and crouched there, dipping his hands in the water and scrubbing his body.

He paused for a moment. When had he become so conscious of how clean he was? Did he wish to please this female? Perhaps that was so. Perhaps he believed it would compensate for the fact that he was a foul orc in all but name. Grimacing, Ashûk cupped water in both his hands and splashed it upon his face.

Glancing behind him, he saw Fleetfoot working on the hides. Having scraped the remaining flesh and fat from one, she was stretching and drying it in the sun. Her yellow hair fanned down as she leaned over, and she tucked it behind her round little ear.

The Uruk's throat constricted, looking at her. She continued to deny the fact that he was an orc, seeming to prefer thinking of him as an Uruk. When would realization dawn on her? When would she see the truth? Would it happen when he _showed_ her what a cursed beast he truly was? He didn't trust himself to remain docile and calm. He frankly didn't know why he was that way now.

Many fears had died while in her company, he mused. He no longer feared death; its cold fingers had retreated now that someone had come forward to offer him help and guidance. His fear of suffering hunger and thirst faded, for Fleetfoot knew the forest's bounty and how to find it. And he was not alone.

If he were truly honest with himself, he was relieved. He no longer had to fight tooth and claw against his brothers each day for a scrap of food. Proving his strength so he would not be killed or abused by them was no longer needed. However, though none of his kind ever had cause to compete for females, for _mates_, as their _snaga_ orc cousins did, he suspected this would now be a concern of his, should any others appear to challenge him.

How did orcs claim a mate? he wondered. He rarely spoke to the orcs in his Master's ranks. The Uruk-hai considered themselves superior, and so didn't spare the 'lesser' orcs a second thought most of the time. Master didn't even let the orcs bring their mates or families into Isengard, so Ashûk and his brothers never witnessed interactions with orc females. Or orc children, for that matter.

It occurred to him that Master must not have _wanted_ them to know such things. The Uruk turned once more and looked at the woman. He knew the mechanics of mating, but not the method. There was no desire within him to do her harm, but it was all he'd ever been taught. Was she right? Was it _not_ supposed to hurt? If it did not hurt, would it be wanted by the female? Enjoyed, perhaps?

He did not even know how to touch another person gently. He had been somewhat successful in containing himself when he first touched her, but he must have done it wrong even then, for she kicked him senseless and disappeared into the trees for an hour afterwards. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall how _she_ had touched _him_. It was so different from the way he'd always been treated before.

He squeezed his head between his hands and groaned quietly. He was thinking again, and it just caused more confusion.

A strange sound came to his ears, and he looked up with alarm. It made him think of something large walking, crushing all beneath its feet. Like a troll, perhaps. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Fleetfoot pause in her work and also look up. She grinned.

"Father is coming," she said happily.


	23. Chapter 23

Her father was a _troll_? That did not seem right. Ashûk frowned, then pitched his nose in the air. If a troll was coming, he'd smell it, he was certain. They had a stench about them that no whim of the wind could hide. Strangely, he smelled nothing but wood and leaves.

Tensing, he realized he had no weapon. His worthless dirk was lost when he fell in the river. The little knife Fleetfoot was using to scrape the hide would never penetrate a troll's hide. Likely wouldn't get through _his_, either. For the first time in his life, the Uruk didn't know what to do in the face of such a threat.

There was nothing else he _could_ do, but follow such instincts as he had at his disposal, and right now they were telling him to get near _her_. Defend her with his last breath. Exchange his life for hers, if such a bargain must be struck.

It was, perhaps, the most bizarre thought he'd ever had.

As the crashing footsteps neared, he edged closer to Fleetfoot, choosing not to argue with his gut for once. She was so unaffected by his body, he hadn't received any cues to remind him that he was unclothed again while she labored to make him proper coverings.

"You tremble, Ashûk," she said mildly. "Father is not to be feared. He is good and wise. You will see."

The Uruk had never heard anyone refer to a troll in such terms. He felt worse than naked without a weapon in his hand. Vulnerable in a way he hadn't felt since he saw the destruction of Isengard, the devastation of his _home_. All he knew. All he _was_. Ever since that moment, he had been something else, and it frightened him with its newness.

He realized with a start that Fleetfoot stood at his side, had taken hold of his hand. "Fear nothing, good Ashûk. You are Uruk. Father has quarrels with orcs only."

Now the sounds of footsteps thundered ever closer, and were as the tramp of doom to his ears. _Quarrels with orcs_, she said. He did not stand a chance.

Suddenly the trees parted ahead. They literally _stepped aside_ to allow an even bigger tree to enter the grove.

"Hooom," the strange creature rumbled. "What is this?"

Ashûk staggered back a few steps. He could not breathe for a moment, then it came back in a hyperventilating rush. He heard again the screams of his brothers, saw in his mind their bodies ripped apart...

"Father!" Fleetfoot called happily, and walked boldly up to the bark-skinned Ent. "I have found a friend, Father. Come, and you shall meet him."

"You call _this_ 'friend'?" Fangorn bellowed. The woman faltered before her father's wrath. "Child, you have ever been hasty, but _this_..."

"He... has... done me no harm," she ventured sheepishly, bowing her head.

Striding swiftly past Fleetfoot, the tree shepherd reached for Ashûk with a giant branch-like arm. "Filthy orc!" he roared.


	24. Chapter 24

"Father!" Fleetfoot snapped, hands going to her hips. The gigantic tree shepherd halted, gnarled hand in mid-grab. Ashûk merely stood there trembling, eyes squeezed shut as he awaited the inevitable. "He is a _friend_. Have you not taught me to value such things?"

"I believed I had taught you the value of avoiding orcs," Fangorn retorted, his deep voice resonating like thunder from a distant storm. "It would seem my words fell upon ears that only hear what they _want_ to hear."

"He is not an orc. He is _Uruk_." She folded her arms crossly over her breasts. Ashûk cracked one eye open, and wondered at the defiance she showed, when she was not even equal in height to the Ent's waist.

"Foolish child," Fangorn sighed wearily. "_Uruk_ is merely _orc_ in the tongue of orcs. He is no different from any other foul beast that serves the Shadow."

Ashûk winced and bowed his head. Could he not leave it behind? Had he not shed the outer covering of his folk on the banks of the river? Would it ever haunt him, this blackness that all could see... all except her?

A quick glance at her face told him she was no longer blind, and could see him just as well as anyone now.

"Ashûk," Fleetfoot said evenly, and her tone made him cringe. "You... lied?"

Once when he was young and still learning how things worked in Isengard, he foolishly insulted the wrong Uruk, and paid a grievous price for the slight. He still bore the scars of that lesson; sometimes he even suffered blackouts with the slightest jar to his head to remind him of his folly. He would take another beating like that one if it would remove the hurt look from her face.

"I did not mean to. We call ourselves Uruk-hai. But we are...," he faltered, gathering himself. He couldn't look at her. "We are orcs. _I_ am... an orc."

"You told me you were Uruk-hai," she said. "You told me you were not the same as an orc. You _lied_."

"I'm _not_ the same!" he barked. "We aren't... what the _snaga_ call orcs. They called us...," he snarled, then halted, bitterness and shame assailing him. "They called us mongrels. Half-breeds. Curs. Bastards. Things I don't even want to _say_." He shot a wary look at the Ent, whose passive-seeming face loomed over them both.

"Half-breeds?" Fangorn said slowly. "Bred... with what?"

If Ashûk could have sunk into the ground, he would gladly have done it. He may never have been sent to the breeding pits, but he knew what was down there. _All_ knew, and most hoped to be called to 'do their duty' to swell the ranks of their Master's army.

"Females," he muttered. "Whiteskins. Taken... in raids. Some... some as tribute from Dunland. All... human." Females like Fleetfoot, he realized. The thought of her put to such use repelled him.

"The blackest deed of all!" the Ent thundered. "And you stand there defending this beast?"

Fleetfoot seemed to ponder for a moment, then looked up at her father. "Is it _his_ deed to answer for? Is _he_ to be held to account for his own making?"

"Hooom, baroom," Fangorn rumbled, stymied by such unexpected questions. After a moment, he countered with, "Ask him, then, why he has not harmed you. Why he lulled you with falsehoods. What does he expect to gain from such seduction of your will?"

Turning to Ashûk, Fleetfoot looked expectant, eyebrows arched.

The Uruk blinked rapidly, yellow eyes flicking between the woman and the Ent. "I was... lost," he said slowly. "The battle... went wrong. We retreated, but... trees came..." He winced and faltered for a moment, remembering the screams. "I tried to find my way home, but it was gone. Flooded. Destroyed. Everything." Turning his pleading eyes to Fleetfoot, Ashûk appealed to her, "I did not know how to survive. I needed help. You offered it. I... I took it."

"You used her," Fangorn growled. "As your kind use all for your own purposes. This is why he did not harm you, child. You would not have given him what he wanted if he had."

The look of betrayal on her face crushed the Uruk, and he fell to his knees. A hard lump rose up his chest, seeking an exit. He thought it was vomit, for he certainly felt sickened by the words spoken about him. Moreso because he knew them to be true, weren't they? Would he have leaped upon her in a heartbeat had he not understood his survival depended on restraint? Did he only hold himself back to fool her into serving his needs?

Or was there another reason?

If he'd believed his thoughts in turmoil before, it was nothing compared to the storm in his mind now. He could feel his body trembling, feel a hot sting in his eyes that he'd never felt before.

"Fascinating," Fangorn murmured. "I have never known an orc to weep. I did not think they were able. Is this some sort of deceit?"

Fleetfoot edged closer and peered at the Uruk's contorted face. "No, father. It is despair."


	25. Chapter 25

"Hoom," Fangorn rumbled thoughtfully. "This is most... unexpected. And not something I have the luxury of time to investigate." Turning slowly to Fleetfoot, the giant shepherd loomed over her. "You have ever been willful, but that is likely because you are small. You have left me in a predicament, child."

"Why, father?" she asked. "What has happened?"

"Know you the destruction in the wizard's valley?" he asked. Fleetfoot nodded. Though Ashûk's ears pricked, he didn't look up. They seemed to be content to ignore him for the moment, and he had no desire to call attention to himself.

"A great battle was fought and won in Rohan, and their king comes," Fangorn informed her. The Uruk stiffened, wondering if he would next be faced with this king. "I must finish my business with Saruman, and go meet him. There is much to do yet. I do not wish to leave you with... this."

"He has done me no harm, father," Fleetfoot reminded him firmly.

"Should you feel threatened, I trust you will not hesitate to defend yourself?" Fangorn growled.

"I know now what he is," she said flatly. "I cannot be so easily fooled again. If he gives me cause to fear, I will slay him."

"Baroom," Fangorn grumbled. "I must go. I leave this... creature in your hands." Fixing Ashûk once more with a withering glower, the Ent departed.

Several long, silent moments passed before the Uruk felt brave enough to look up. He half expected Fangorn to change his mind and return to crush him. But the Ent was truly gone. Ashûk's eyes sought out Fleetfoot, finding her standing a few yards away. She stared at him coldly, arms crossed over her chest.

His breath came out in gasps as relief at still being able to _draw_ breath assailed him.


	26. Chapter 26

"Ashûk," Fleetfoot said stiffly. "Do you mean to harm me?"

He shook his head vigorously, his eyes pleading with her to _believe_ him. "No. No harm. I... I don't... I _can't_... No."

Sighing, she slowly approached. Ashûk stayed where he was, kneeling on the grass next to the pool. He could no longer look at her, for her eyes were not as warm as they had been.

"My memories... are dreams now," she said quietly. "My dreams have told me that my _true_ father was slain by one of your kind."

Ashûk winced. If he could have sunk into the ground, he would have. Shame and nausea rolled over him like a wave. What could he say? He couldn't undo what was done. To begin with, he didn't do it. He never set foot out of Isengard before the army marched for Helm's Deep. Must he pay for _every_ deed done by his people? One person could not, and neither could he.

But apparently his relative innocence was immaterial.

"I have no waking memory of my village," she went on, her voice gone dreamlike and soft. "But at night, I see it wreathed in flames. I see... faces. People. Perhaps they are my father and mother. They are frightened."

"Fleetfoot," Ashûk said brokenly, "I fought in the great battle, but that is all. I never left the valley before that day we marched. I never went to a village to... burn it. I never... killed anyone but Men who would kill _me_ if I was not fast enough."

"War is a madness," she replied. "Men do what they must to win. Perhaps... orcs do as well."

"We do what we are _told_," Ashûk snarled. "If it suited our master to send us to a battle we could not win, he would do it, and we would fight and die without question. _That_ is what orcs do."


	27. Chapter 27

"It is a painful memory for you," Fleetfoot said thoughtfully. "My dreams caused me pain, so Fangorn advised me to forget. But I think... for you... it is important to remember."

Ashûk frowned up at her and blinked, uncomprehending. "I want to forget," he replied. "My Master is gone, my folk are gone. I am alone." Then he chuckled ironically. "It is what my name means. Alone."

Kneeling in front of him, the woman looked at him with sympathy. "You are not alone now, Ashûk who is Uruk. Do not forget what you were. If you do, you may become an Orc once more. If that is not what you want to _be_, then you must remember what you _were_."

She reached up and gently touched his cheek. Ashûk turned his face into her hand and sighed, grateful for the contact. Surely he must be forgiven if she was doing this.

"There is so much pain in your eyes, Ashûk," she said softly. "I wonder that you can open them without weeping."

He bowed his head in shame, for he hadn't managed to hold them back in the face of her 'father's' wrath. "Orcs do not weep. Uruk-hai are not _allowed_ to weep."

Brushing her fingers across his cheek, she showed him the droplets. "Ashûk weeps."

Wincing and turning away, he growled, "Ashûk is a fool."

"No," she said kindly. "Ashûk is an Orc, and he weeps." She caressed his face soothingly. "So Orcs _do_ weep, when their pain is great enough."


	28. Chapter 28

"I do not want to die," Ashûk murmured, squeezing his eyes shut against the painful admission.

"None do," Fleetfoot said. "You will not die today. I am not afraid of you."

Though he was an Uruk, and his Master told them they were to instill fear in all who encountered them, for domination _required_ fear, he felt relief that _she_ didn't feel it. Of course, how _could_ she, when he was sitting naked before her in more than a physical way? She had seen him at his weakest; it was no wonder she had no fear of him.

He wished to be clothed. At least _that_ vulnerability would be hidden from her. And perhaps the other things his body insisted on displaying could also be concealed.

Being near her stirred such a strong desire to mate, he had no control over what his member wished to do. Relief from surviving the encounter with Fangorn only seemed to strengthen the need, not quell it or subdue it.

And of couse, there was little about him that escaped Fleetfoot's notice.

"Why does your cock harden when I am close to you?" she asked, her eyes shifting down to look at his member.

He froze for a moment, as he seemed to do whenever she asked him so bluntly about the reactions of that particular part of his anatomy. She seemed utterly fascinated with it; embarrassingly so. For him, at least; _she_ seemed completely at her ease.

"You were... touching me," he replied awkwardly. He laughed a little. "It does not take much."

"What does it mean? It seems to happen often." As ever, her face bore a knowing innocence that both intimidated and aroused him.

Hoping it would finally make her avoid asking such questions, he said tightly, "It means... I want to mate."

"Oh," she said, her brows arching. "Right now?"

Looking away uncomfortably, he growled, "All the time. Master... made us so we would want it... all the time."

Fleetfoot's brow furrowed. "That is strange."

He hadn't expected her to say _that_. "Why strange?"

"The wild creatures do not wish it all the time," she said reasonably. "They do not _need_ to."

"We are different... from the wild creatures," he said. "Not _much_ different, but... a bit. We want, we need, we... take."

Narrowing her eyes, she looked at him shrewdly. "You _take_?"

"It's... how we were taught," he said in a low voice, his head bowed. "What we were told. No one mates with an Orc. No one _wants_ to mate with an Orc."

"Not even other Orcs?"

"We... the Uruk-hai... are not sent after Orcs," he said quietly.

"Oh." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, processing his words. Frowning, she looked at him carefully. "This is done... by force?" He winced and nodded.

"Yes," he replied. "It must be."

"Why did you not force me?"

Shifting uncomfortably, he muttered, "I did not want to frighten you away. I needed your help to survive."

"Is that the only reason? For your own survival?"

"No," he said. "I have never known a whiteskin. You were kind to me. It seemed... I should be... kind... in return."

Fleetfoot smiled. "Then we are friends."

Furrowing his brow, he said, "I do not understand what a 'friend' is."

Her smile broadened. "It is you and I." Reaching out, she took his hands in hers and held them firmly. "I will not harm you because you are my friend." She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Smiling slightly, Ashûk said, "And I will not harm _you_... because you are _mine_."

They shared a quiet moment, holding hands and smiling at one another. Ashûk relaxed, comforted by her apparent acceptance of him.


	29. Chapter 29

It took only a moment for Fleetfoot to bring up his 'condition' once more.

"Your body desires mating," she pointed out.

Looking away with embarassment, Ashûk growled, "I... desire it as well."

"So do I," she murmured. His head jerked back sharply and he fixed her with a startled look.

Was _that_ what he was smelling, then? There were so many odd feelings and needs stirred by this female, he couldn't categorize them all. He thought her scent was simply... well... just _her_. He'd assumed his reaction was to her in general, not anything with a purpose. Such as a mating musk.

Now that he knew what it was, his own need became more desperate. Alarmingly so. Perhaps she reacted to _his_ musk, for hers seemed to strengthen in proportion to his.

"How is it done?" she asked curiously. "Among your kind?"

Stricken by the question, he could only gape. He had never actually witnessed a forced mating, much less a consensual one. In all truth, he hadn't even seen a male with a _female_. All pleasures were managed by one's own hand, or taken from another male, willingly or not.

Her open and honest curiosity made him gather himself and answer. "I have not seen it done with my own eyes. We were told... but... I have not done it."

"What were you told?" she pressed.

"How it is done by force," he said quickly, wincing.

"It is a start," Fleetfoot said. "Tell me."

Swallowing, he took several deep breaths. "I am... to lie atop you." A shiver shook his body briefly as his mind embarked on lurid fantasies of mating with Fleetfoot.

When he hesitated too long in continuing, she said contemplatively, "The wild creatures mount the female from behind."

Another image flashed into Ashûk's mind, and he grunted. Releasing her hands, he dragged his fingers through his hair, trying not to see himself covering her like a warg in heat...

"When you say it is done by force," Fleetfoot continued, seemingly oblivious to his struggles, "the male is atop the female. How _is_ he atop the female?"

Hauling himself back to the conversation, he gasped, "Uh... could be mounting from behind, I suppose. I... was told it was done face-to-face. So the female knows who... what..." A bit of his passion dulled at the recalled instruction. It was a tactic to increase the fear, heighten the terror. The Uruk-hai were so dreadfully hideous, so monstrous in appearance, that forcing the females to _see_ what assaulted them increased the impact of the assault.

The position was as much a part of the weaponry as the Uruk bodies were.

"If that is how it is done by force," Fleetfoot reasoned, "and from behind is the way the wild creatures do it, then we must find a different way. Perhaps if I am atop _you_?"

Ashûk's gut reaction was to resist even the suggestion of allowing another to take the dominant position with him. One just did not give up their power like that. But looking at her... he realized it was a matter of trust. Could he trust her in such a position? Was he willing to be submissive... even for such a reward as this?

There was, to his surprise, no debate over the answer.

"Yeah," he said, nodding, "that would be different."

"All right then," she said brightly. "We will try that. Lie down."

His face went slack. "What... _now_?"


	30. Chapter 30

Fleetfoot smiled gently, her eyelids only half open. "Your cock is ready. So am I. Lie down, Ashûk."

It was suddenly difficult for the Uruk to breathe as he gasped, "All right." He hastily stretched out flat on his back in the grass.

Kneeling beside him, Fleetfoot laid her hand upon his chest and stroked down his body, watching every reaction to her caress with fascination. Ashûk was quivering from head to toe, fighting to keep his hands, his _claws_, away from her delicate skin. It was not easy, for he longed to touch her as well. He shivered and closed his eyes for a moment as her fingertips traced his tattoos.

The light caresses were a wholly unfamiliar experience for him. Even though she had touched him before in a similar manner, perhaps the expectation of mating increased the pleasure of it this time. Lying submissively before her, allowing her to explore his body, was too arousing to be uncomfortable now. He found that, even without her actually touching his member, he was nearing completion. Were she to so much as brush her fingers lightly upon him...

"You asked if I thought you ugly," Fleetfoot murmured. "I would not wish this if you were."

"Muh-my face," he gasped breathlessly. "Face... is ugly."

"Oh Ashûk," she said kindly, "I do not mean your face." Her hand rested in the center of his chest, feeling the strong beating of his heart. "I meant _this_."

He wasn't quite sure what she was talking about, and in moments his mind ceased to care. Fleetfoot moved astride his hips, and he held his breath. Her fingers encircled his member, and he sucked in another breath. To his relief, he didn't peak right at that moment.

Watching every move she made, his breath hitching with anticipation, he saw her shift to a squatting position over him, his member poised at her entrance.

At first, she appeared uncertain. He was glad she knew where to put him, but she still seemed to be having trouble. However, the more she maneuvered him, rubbing the head of his cock around her opening as she looked for a comfortable angle, the closer he came to finishing. Digging his claws into the ground, his grunting breaths came more swiftly.

Had he been able to focus on anything beyond his groin, Ashûk might have noticed Fleetfoot's distress. Once in what she felt was a satisfactory position, one which even for _her_ was pleasurable, she found resistance. Taking him inside her even a small amount introduced a discomfort that only grew as she continued. She retreated, and tried again. The pain seemed to worsen with each attempt. Checking Ashûk, she saw his face gone slack, his chest heaving, body trembling. Growls of pleasure rumbled forth.

This was not hurting _him,_ she realized. It did not hurt the wild creatures. She simply was not doing it right.

Gritting her teeth, she let herself drop.

A long groan erupted from his chest as he found himself fully inside her. No time with his hand could begin to compare with _this_. So tight... so hot... if she would only stroke...

Something was not right. Opening his eyes, he looked up at her. She was weeping, her hands shaking as she sought to cover her face. His eyes immediately went to where they were joined.

He saw nothing amiss, and in fact found the vision of her astride his body unquestionably arousing. Yet she wept.

"Fleetfoot?" he ventured uncertainly.

"It... hurts," she sobbed. "Why does it hurt?"


	31. Chapter 31

Not waiting for an answer, Fleetfoot clumsily slid off him and crawled a few feet away, sobbing in pain. Her thighs trembled and the sting between her legs was bad enough to render her immobile lest it worsen.

Ashûk struggled to sit up, gasping for breath. Unfinished and still throbbing with need, his cock stood uncomfortably hard... and covered in a thin sheen of blood.

He'd never heard of this. No one who bragged of taking females mentioned a thing about blood. Looking at Fleetfoot curled in a protective ball, he felt...

Like an Orc. Only an Orc could have done this to her.

Increasing his shame was the raging fire in his loins that remained unquenched. Casting about for some means of dousing it, his eyes fell on the pool. He lurched to his feet and staggered over, then stumbled in up to his waist.

The sudden cold shocked his body hard, but effectively killed his erection in the process. Sighing with relief, he dragged himself back out when he was sure it would not return.

He felt no satisfaction in having mated with Fleetfoot, not when she was lying in a broken coil on the ground. She had expected it to feel good, though he warned her mating with Orcs would bring nothing but pain.

"I... I am sorry," he said as he cautiously approached her. Kneeling, he saw a streak of blood down the inside of her leg and winced. It was so much more vivid against her pale skin than on his dark flesh. Unlike in battle, the sight did not excite him.

"Why did it hurt?" Fleetfoot rasped quietly, her face crumpled in sorrow. "It does not hurt the wild creatures."

Her pitifully weak voice undid him completely, and his shoulders sagged. "It is because I am an Orc," he said, humiliated by the admission for the first time in his life. "And you are not. I am sorry." Swallowing the urge to howl his self-loathing to the heavens, he growled, "I'll not do it again. I promise."

Unsure what else to do, Ashûk gathered her in his arms. There was no resistance as he held her to him. Her arms stole around him and she sobbed her bitter disappointment against his shoulder. He had no idea how to mend what he had ruined, or even if it _could_ be mended. He stared unblinking into the trees as he rocked her, his thoughts in turmoil.


	32. Chapter 32

"Forgive me," Ashûk whispered, pressing his cheek to hers. "Please."

Fleetfoot's weeping had diminished; she only sniffled a little now. Yet she held onto him.

"I do not... want pain, Ashûk," she said shakily. "Is there... is there always pain?"

Swallowing the hard lump in his throat, he breathed, "Yes. Always. I have not been told otherwise. I am sorry."

"I should not have... insisted," Fleetfoot whimpered, cleaving closer to him. "You did not want to. You were wiser than I."

He shook his head. "No. I did. I wanted to. I just... hoped... without force... maybe it wouldn't hurt." Grunting a bitter laugh, he added, "Stupid. Orcs are deceivers. Even to ourselves."

"Did it hurt you?" she asked, looking up into his face. His brow creased with shame.

"No," he replied.

"Did it... feel good?" she pressed.

He found he could not look her in the eyes and lie. Closing his eyes so he wouldn't see the disappointment in hers, he nodded.

"Why did it hurt _me_?" she begged of him.

Ashûk sighed with frustration. "I don't _know_. Maybe... maybe we did it wrong."

Fleetfoot seemed to latch onto those words, and roughly wiped her tears away. "I want to feel good. With _you_. So we will learn how it is done _right_."

Blinking at her, he protested, "I don't want to hurt you, Fleetfoot."

"I am not so sure you did," she replied. "Perhaps I was too... hasty." She smiled wanly. "Father would be so cross with me."

"For being hasty, or for mating with an Orc?" he asked wryly.

A grin spread across her face. "For hastily mating with an Orc, I think."

"We go slow, then," Ashûk suggested.

"Yes," she whispered, settling in his arms and resting her head on his shoulder. "Slow."


	33. Chapter 33

Parting from one another, Ashûk and Fleetfoot shared a shy smile. "I must continue, or you will remain uncovered," she said, pursing her lips to keep from laughing. Ashûk ducked his head with embarrassment, his cheeks darkening. Yet he still smiled.

Watching her cross the clearing, he found he was relaxed, contented. Had their brief and failed attempt at mating brought such feelings? He wasn't sure. It didn't seem right. He was forgiven; perhaps that was the reason. Not only forgiven, but not hated.

It was a heady feeling, he realized. Not being hated. He may never have worried himself about it before, but quite suddenly, in this place, with this female, after all he had learned from her in so brief a time... Had she hated him, he would have longed for death. There would have been no purpose remaining, now that his master was gone and his folk destroyed.

She had given him a purpose, a reason to live. Ashûk's head lifted proudly and confidently with the acknowledgement of the gift she'd bestowed as though she deemed him worthy of it. He would walk at her side, live in her world, mate with her, and perhaps... dare he imagine? Might she bear young for him? His throat closed and his eyes blurred; days ago, he could never have foreseen such a fate. Now he longed for it.

Like the wild creatures she spoke of, living in freedom and contentment, no masters crushing their wills, no one applying the whip or ordering them about. No one forcing them to mate, then ensorcelling their offspring to make mindlessly obedient soldiers for a war that was not theirs.

He blinked, startled at his own thoughts. It was a truth he'd always known but never dwelt on before now. Looking at Fleetfoot as she scraped skins for his covering, Ashûk couldn't bear to even think about what it would have done to her to live under such conditions. She was free and wild, untouched by the shadow. He wished he could boast the same.


	34. Chapter 34

Not content to remain idle while Fleetfoot labored, Ashûk asked what he might do to help. She paused thoughtfully.

"We should consider what we shall eat this evening," she decided. "Can you fetch us something?"

Frowning, he looked away. Visions of her father catching him alone in the forest crowded his mind. He felt fear, and was ashamed. Fleetfoot noticed his discomfort.

"Is something wrong? Do you not know how to hunt?"

Wincing, he bowed his head. "I can hunt," he muttered. "I fear your father's wrath." Drawing a shuddering breath, he added, "I cannot go... anywhere without you."

"Ashûk," she said sympathetically, touching his arm. "This is difficult for you, isn't it?" He nodded.

"I do not know what I am meant to do," he said slowly, "but I feel... I must be your protector." He shook his head. "I am no protector in this place."

Fleetfoot tilted her head to the side and regarded him. After a moment, she said, "I should like to hunt by your side. Perhaps we may learn from one another."

A relieved smile curved his mouth. "Yes. We should hunt together."

Grinning, she turned from her task and rummaged through her belongings stowed in a hollow dug out of a hill along the edge of the clearing. Ashûk hadn't noticed it before; the opening was overhung with moss and vines so that it blended with the surrounding trees. Inclining his head to see better, he made out a pallet of furs and various carved wooden containers, as well as a collection of simple weapons.

_She lives here_, he realized. This wasn't simply a resting place on the way; she'd brought him to her home. He found he was glad of that, and looked about him with renewed interest.

"Come along now," she said, distracting him from his wandering thoughts. She held two spears, one of which she tossed to Ashûk. "You and I have a meal to catch."


	35. Chapter 35

Crouching in the underbrush, silently stalking prey, came naturally to Ashûk. In matters of stealth and the business of killing, he had no equal. Yet for the first time in his short life, he experienced a wholly different set of pleasures in the hunt. There was the simple satisfaction of using his body in the way it was meant to be used. There was the pride in his ability to come so close to a deer he could almost touch it before it knew he was there. There was the thrill of spearing his prey in the same instant that Fleetfoot also loosed her weapon.

He felt the exhilaration of the chase when the deer bolted. Eyes on the prize, he could feel the closeness of the female at his side as they raced after their quarry. He felt as though he could fly.

When they reached the exhausted, mortally wounded animal, he knew what he would have done not so long ago, and paused. Was there still a part of him that lusted for the death cries and the blood? Did he still crave inflicting pain, prolonging suffering, destroying the weak?

For a moment that seemed to stretch for hours, he wrestled with the beast inside him. He watched, detached, as Fleetfoot swiftly ended the deer's suffering. Though he didn't feel all of those horrid things, he felt some, and knew they must be wrong. Like a silent judge, Fangorn appeared in Ashûk's thoughts, disapproving of every thought that passed through the Uruk's mind. The Ent's disapproval would surely lead to Ashûk's death. Standing still, his head bowed, the Uruk felt sickened.

"You feel the Orc inside you," Fleetfoot observed, and he looked up sharply. Swallowing hard, he nodded. "What else do you feel?"

He frowned, unsure. "I feel... shame."

"For this?" she asked, gesturing toward the deer. He shook his head. "Why, then?"

"I was made for cruelty," he said slowly. "I was made for hate."

Stepping closer to him, she gazed into his eyes. "What you were made for, Ashûk, is for you to learn. It is not only what your master intended." She smiled warmly and caressed his cheek.

Ashûk slowly nodded, closing his eyes and turning to nuzzle the palm of her hand. "Forgive me. I feel... urges. It is difficult to deny..."

"Speak them," she said gently. "Tell me of these urges."

He swallowed, and found he couldn't look her in the eyes. "I want... to taste blood. Rip... flesh. Hear the cries... Fleetfoot, I am a beast."

"No," she smiled. "You are a wild creature. I should have realized. Mating does you no harm. Your teeth are like the wolf, your claws like the bear." She tilted her head to the side. "You _are_ a beast, but a beast who walks like a Man. A beast who thinks and speaks. A beast who feels."

Frowning uncertainly, Ashûk looked at her askance. "Is this... good?"

"I begin to see what you truly are," Fleetfoot replied. "You are beast _and_ Man. Are all Orcs like you, neither wholly beast, nor wholly Man?"

Startled, Ashûk blinked several times, his brow furrowed. "I do not know," he replied hesitantly. "Some Orcs I knew seemed more... more beast than Man, while others... Uruk-hai mostly, were more Man than... than Orc. Depended on... many things, I suppose." He paused, then went on haltingly, "If I am... beast and Man... do you... am I not... what you want?"

"Ashûk," Fleetfoot said softly, "you intrigue me. When I am with you, I learn things. You have awakened my body and mind. Father said once that we often find what we seek when we are not looking for it." Her smile broadened. "I found _you_."


	36. Chapter 36

Ashûk carried the deer back to the clearing, feeling almost giddy. He sat opposite Fleetfoot, the deer between them, and together they skinned and dressed the animal. Their eyes frequently met, and shy smiles were exchanged. He felt a fullness in his chest he'd never experienced before.

She knew who and what he was, and she did not turn from him. When all else in his world had been destroyed, he felt renewed when he looked upon her face. He could accept that he was a wild creature, as she described him, if only because she was not repelled by it. No, she embraced the wildness in him, for it matched her own.

Perhaps they used different tools - she a knife and he his claws - but they both ate their meat raw. She spoke to him of her own exhilaration when hunting, and her words struck a chord of familiarity in him. Ashûk found he enjoyed it when she spoke, for her hands fluttered about like birds in her excitement, and her eyes lit up like stars.

How could any of his kind look upon someone like Fleetfoot and want to destroy her?

When night fell, and they were drowsy and full from their meal, Ashûk followed her into her hollow, long having forgotten his nakedness.

"Lie beside me," she whispered, taking his hand and drawing him down. Suddenly nervous, he awkwardly knelt on the furs and watched as she removed the hides she wore.

"Do you...," Ashûk began worriedly, "do you want... mating?"

Her brow pinched slightly. "I think not. Tonight, at least, I wish only your body next to mine. Your hands upon me. My hands upon you."

Not trusting himself to speak, he merely nodded. Though she'd set the boundaries, his member ignored them. He could feel himself hardening, but dared not look lest she also notice. Better to simply ignore it. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he lay on his side facing her, pillowing his head on one arm. Fleetfoot settled herself more calmly. Her smile was warm and teasing.

"You are terribly nervous, Ashûk," she gently chided. "Come. Touch me, and fear nothing."

Swallowing, he slowly reached out and rested his hand on her hip. Her hand slid over his waist, and he felt a slight pressure against his back as she urged him closer. Groaning inwardly, for he feared what she would say once his cock was touching her, he inched forward until her small breasts pressed into his chest. The feel of her made him tremble and his breath came faster.

"I feel you," she breathed, tipping her face up and stroking his cheek with hers. "I feel you."

Seemingly of its own accord, his hand smoothed over her hip to her buttocks, and he clutched her flesh, his claws pressing but not breaking her skin. A slight gasp came from her, and she closed her eyes, a half smile on her face. She obliged him with a like grasp of his own backside. Then her hand slowly traveled up his back, exploring the shape of him, tracing the ridges of scars left behind from harsh discipline. Loathe as he was to release her, he caressed her smooth, unmarred back in return, and wondered at it.

Untouched, she was. Pure and innocent. He didn't dare claim her as his own, for he did not think himself worthy of such a treasure.

Ashûk's thoughts were pleasant imaginings of hunting at her side and mating under the stars as he drifted off to sleep, a gentle smile on his face. He held her close, breathing in her scent, memorizing it, _knowing_ it with every sense. She became a part of him, and he unknowingly became a part of her, for her own senses were just as keenly attuned to him as his were to her.

The wild creatures slept on undisturbed until the break of dawn, when a thundering voice startled them awake.

"Hoooom, what is _this_?"

Opening his eyes with a start, Ashûk beheld Fangorn looming over them, one gnarled hand holding the moss aside like a curtain as he glared down at their intimate embrace with a most disapproving expression.


	37. Chapter 37

Ashûk couldn't move for several moments, and simply stared up at the tree shepherd with eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"Father?" Fleetfoot mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.

"_Filthy Orc_," Fangorn rumbled, reaching into the hollow. His great, gnarled, branch-like hand grasped Ashûk about the throat and hauled the Uruk out. Ashûk was helpless to do anything but grip the enraged creature's wrist, and kick ineffectually at the air.

"_Father! Put him down!_" the woman cried, leaping to her feet.

"What has he done to you? What madness has consumed your good sense?" The Ent's furious voice thundered in the morning stillness, silencing birds and urging small animals into hiding. "You should have slain it, as was done to all its kind in the valley! No good may come of it, for none went into it."

Vision tunneling as Fangorn's hold tightened, Ashûk's struggles weakened. He could make no sound, and draw no breath. His flailing legs grew still, only twitching now and then. His hands fell to his sides and his arms hung limply.

"Please, father, _please_! Let him go, I beg you."

It seemed ironic, somehow, that the last words Ashûk would hear would be a female's begging. His fellows had found it entertaining, and often boasted of being the cause of it. For Ashûk, who had so recently taken his first halting steps in a new direction, the sound brought anguish.


	38. Chapter 38

Fangorn dropped the Orc's limp body and regarded his ward curiously. He watched as she crawled across the ground, weeping and whimpering, toward the creature. He saw how she gathered it in her arms and cradled it close, how she smoothed its coarse hair, softly crooning though her voice was broken and halting. He did not know whether to call such attention motherly, or something worse.

"What has it done to you?" he rumbled uncertainly. "Did it... bewitch you or...?"

"_No!_" Fleetfoot snapped, glaring hotly at the Ent. "He did _nothing_." Dragging her hand across her streaming eyes, she looked down at the Orc's still face. "He became himself," she whispered, caressing his dark cheek. "A child of Eru."

"Hooomm," Fangorn grumbled. "They are not children of Eru. They are servants of the Shadow and have no place..."

"He had a place with me," she snapped defiantly, easing Ashûk's head down and standing to face her father. The Orc's shallow, rattling breaths could barely be heard, yet the reassurance that he still lived firmed her resolve. "I saw his worth."

"What 'worth' do you speak of? Child, I have walked this world for many lifetimes of Men, and have never, in all that time..."

"He hunted at my side," Fleetfoot interrupted. "We walked together, we supped together. He told me of himself. He did me no harm."

Yet her brow pinched, and she bit her lip. Fangorn's heavy brow rose then dipped low.

"You have never spoken a falsehood until now," he observed heavily.

Cringing under her father's stern gaze, Fleetfoot bowed her head. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "I cannot say that what... happened... was his doing."

The Ent's booming voice shook the ground as he roared, "_What did it do?_"

Though she flinched, Fleetfoot raised her chin and admonished, "Do not judge so hastily, father."

For a moment that stretched several heartbeats, Fangorn glared down at the woman. Then his eyes narrowed and his frame shook with mirth. "Child," he chuckled, "you vex me. Tell me what happened, that was not... 'his doing.'"


End file.
